


The Manipulation Affair

by jj_minerva



Series: Compromised Series [2]
Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non Consensual, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-10
Updated: 2009-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jj_minerva/pseuds/jj_minerva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second story in the Compromised Series. Napoleon and Illya find themselves working together on their second assignment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Manipulation Affair

The Manipulation Affair - 1959

 

Part 1

 

Napoleon Solo was a man with a mission; one he had been working on for the last four weeks.  He had bided his time, plotting and planning and now, with any luck, all of his careful scheming would come to fruition.

 

He paused outside the door to the lab where Illya Kuryakin, enigmatic Russian and newly found friend was working.  Since the blossoming of their unlikely friendship after the Variation on a Theme Affair a month ago their lunch time meetings had become habit, one that they both looked forward to. Napoleon had even invited Illya out for a drink after work on a few occasions, introducing him to one of his favourite bars where he liked to unwind. 

 

The invitation that Napoleon was about to make was something different.

 

With a quick glance in the polished chrome of the door to make sure that his tie was straight and his hair was just so, Napoleon entered the lab.  Illya was at one of the benches at work on what looked like an umbrella. The blond Russian was dressed in a shabby white lab coat and large tinted glasses.  Napoleon was struck once again by how chameleon like Illya could be. Seeing him now, no one would believe he was capable of turning heads. But Napoleon had witnessed it and he was hoping that Illya might once again be persuaded to show that other side of himself.

 

“Napoleon, what do you want? I am very busy.” Illya did not look up but kept working, some innate sense telling him who had entered.

 

Napoleon smiled. Illya was wasted here in the labs. His uncanny senses would be more useful working in the field. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I was hoping you might agree to see a movie this weekend.”

 

Blue eyes looked up, suddenly suspicious. “With you?”

 

“Yes, with me.”

 

Illya’s eyes narrowed but he remained silent.

 

“And I have asked Candy and her friend Nancy to come along too,” Napoleon admitted, no match for the icy gaze. “Ben-Hur is showing at the Metro and I thought the four of us could…”

 

“No Napoleon.”

 

Napoleon wasn’t giving up without a fight. There was another reason that Napoleon was working so hard towards his objective. He was worried about Illya, worried about the whispers that were filtering through HQ, whispers concerning UNCLE’s resident Russian and why he didn’t flirt with the girls who were constantly flirting with him. 

The initial distrust based on his ethnicity had given way to an even greater distrust. Although Illya still wore the wedding ring, it was generally known that he was not married.  Women were offended when Illya turned down their very open propositions. They in turn shared their disappointment with their friends who assured them that it wasn’t their fault; there must be something wrong with Kuryakin. Men picked up on the rumours and were in turn suspicious. Why would any man turn down an offer of free sex with some of the lovely young ladies who worked at HQ? It was unthinkable.  What was wrong with Kuryakin? Did he not like women?

 

And there it was, the real reason that Napoleon was trying so hard to get Illya to date.  No man wanted to carry the stain of homosexuality. It was bad enough that Illya had to do such things in the course of duty, but it was even worse if people suspected he was really ‘like that’. Napoleon wanted to protect his friend. He was fairly certain that Waverly had kept the Variation on a Theme under wraps and that it was Illya’s own reticence that had resulted in the whispered accusations. And the only way to deal with them was prove them wrong.

 

Napoleon had done a lot of soul searching since Illya’s admission that he liked men. Of course Illya had said he liked women too, but Napoleon had seen no sign of this in the last four weeks. If Illya dated, he certainly didn’t tell Napoleon.  And maybe that was the problem; the only reason that Illya liked men was because he hadn’t met the right woman. After all, hadn’t Napoleon himself been able to successfully banish all lingering traces of the unexpected arousal he had felt whilst listening to Illya and Monroe in the throes of passion?  A string of dates with various accommodating young ladies had been all Napoleon needed to put an end to late night shower fantasies and disturbing dreams. 

 

With his own sexuality firmly back on track, he wondered if the same might help Illya. Napoleon had been working on him ever since.  At first Illya had flatly refused to date any woman from HQ because he felt it was unprofessional. Napoleon ignored the impulse to defend himself since he regularly dated women from the office and changed tactics.

 

Next Illya refused Napoleon’s offer to set up a blind date stating he didn’t like strangers and wouldn’t know what to do or say.  Napoleon was persistent. He knew plenty of women, all of whom had friends. A double date seemed the obvious solution. A romantic setting, wine and music - Illya dressed up and shining. What girl could say no?  And Napoleon could keep an eye on Illya, show him what was expected and run interference should the taciturn Russian manage to offend one of the young ladies. Hopefully the ingredients would all come together and they’d both get lucky.

 

“Come on Illya, we’ve spoken about this and you did say you’d consider going on a double date. This is the perfect opportunity to meet some girls and...”

 

“I can’t Napoleon.”

 

“Of course you can. Candy and Nancy are lovely girls, they’re airline hostesses and you know what they say about women who spend all day on their feet flying around the world!” Illya looked puzzled and Napoleon decided it was probably better not to get too far ahead of himself.  “It’s just a movie Illya”

 

“Yes, just a movie and whatever else you have concocted for the evening, but seriously Napoleon, I can’t. Mr Waverly has ordered me to go on a mission this weekend.”

 

“A mission? You mean one of _those_ Affairs?” This was the first Napoleon had heard of a forthcoming mission.

 

Illya nodded.

 

“Who is your backup?” Napoleon asked, feeling a sudden stab of jealousy wondering if Waverly had found a new partner for his friend.****

 

“I don’t have backup.”

“No backup?”   Relief clashed with worry. “Is that wise? What does it involve?”

 

Illya sighed and looked away. “I can’t tell you. You know that.”

 

“Well I’ll just have to ask Waverly myself.” Napoleon responded not liking this development. Double date forgotten Napoleon marched off to confront Waverly in his lair.

 

 

 

 

Part 2

 

“Yes Mr Solo. What can I do for you?” Alexander Waverly was seated at his desk, looking for all the world like he had been expecting Napoleon.

 

“I’d like to volunteer to provide backup on Mr Kuryakin’s upcoming assignment, Sir.”

 

Waverly raised his eyebrows. “Mr Kuryakin told you about it?”

 

Napoleon bit his lip, wondering if Illya would be in hot water over the slip. He didn’t want to get his friend in trouble. “No, not the details, just that he had one coming up and that there was no backup.”

 

“That is correct. There was no back up available. This type of Affair is not one we want publicised around HQ, Mr Solo.  It’s better kept quiet. Only myself, Mr Pallister, yourself and Mr Kuryakin know that UNCLE sanctions operations of this nature. I am sure you understand that for Mr Kuryakin’s own sake we can not allow this to get around. Things could become very…uncomfortable for him if it what he did became general knowledge. There is very little tolerance for homosexuality in this country, Mr Solo, and although we at UNCLE like to think of ourselves as enlightened, such prejudices are hard to overcome. Mr Pallister and I discussed it and decided that it would not be prudent for anyone else to be brought into that circle.”

 

“So why wasn’t I asked to work with Illya again? We worked well together last time.”

 

Waverly’s face took on a stern look. “You were not asked Mr Solo because you have made it quite clear to me that you do not want a partner and you prefer to work alone. Why just two weeks ago you stood right there and insisted, in no uncertain terms I might add, that you did not need Mr Robinson’s help on the Silver Toes Affair.”

 

“But this is different Mr Waverly.”

 

“Is it Mr Solo?”

 

“Well yes. I would be … happy to work with Illya on this.” Napoleon wondered if he sounded as pathetic. What was Waverly going to think after he had argued for almost an hour over Robertson and the Silver Toes Affair.

 

“I am so pleased that Mr Kuryakin passes your approval as a potential partner.” Waverly responded dryly.  He paused to allow Napoleon to squirm a little longer. “However I can’t make him an exception if you don’t want to work with others.” A smug smile creased his face. “Am I to take it that this means you will not turn down requests to work with partners in the future Mr Solo? One can’t pick and chose in this regard.”

 

Napoleon sighed realising he’d played right into the old man’s hands. “Yes Mr Waverly, I understand.” He’d been set up again. Waverly was a master manipulator and this wasn’t the first time Napoleon had seen him in action.

 

“Good.  I am so pleased you see it our way Mr Solo. Go and tell Mr Kuryakin you are now working on the Affair. He has the file and all the details.”

 

 

 

Part 3

 

“UNCLE has been trying for three months to plant some listening devices in the home of Sebastian Burnside, a wealthy industrialist who is suspected of holding Thrush sympathies and who may be funding a move to take over Canada as the first step towards world domination.”  Illya handed the file to Napoleon with a smile.

 

“Canada, of course.”  Napoleon shook his head in disbelief. “That makes perfect sense.” He flicked through, studying pages and photos.

 

“Burnside has a large estate just outside Seattle not far from the border but all UNCLE’s efforts to infiltrate have been unsuccessful.” Illya directed Napoleon to a particular page.

 

“None of the usual utility servicemen ploys have worked as Burnside has his own generator and water supply. Security at the complex is tight, guards patrol night and day. Visitors are not welcomed.”

 

“The usual Thrush paranoia,” Napoleon sighed.  “Where do you come in?”

 

“Burnside has one weakness; for young blond men that he picks up from a certain bar in downtown Seattle. Our Agent in town tried to enlist the assistance of one of these young men to plant bugs in Burnside’s home. Unfortunately the young man thought Burnside would make him a better offer so he sold UNCLE out for an undisclosed sum of money and reportedly was last seen on a bus heading to Los Angeles. I’m to be the next pickup.”

 

Napoleon sat back with a sigh. “It all sounds fairly simple then. Gain entrance to Burnside’s home. Plant some listening devices and go home. What’s the catch?”

 

“You mean other than having to have sex with a fifty six year old megalomaniac with aspirations of taking over the world?”

 

“Well yes, other than that.”

 

Illya laughed. They had found that a sense of humour suited them well in the previous Affair and they fell back on it now.  

 

“The hard part will be getting him to choose me. Although he likes variety and seldom choses the same fellow twice, he may be wary of someone new suddenly showing up so soon after being tipped off.”

 

_Oh Illya, how can you doubt yourself_, Napoleon wondered to himself. Of course Burnside would try to pick him up.  Did his friend have no idea how devastating he could look when he put his mind to it?  Burnside would take one look at Illya and probably come in his pants. Napoleon briefly wondered where that stray thought had come from, but filed it away with the other less than heterosexual observations that were fast accumulating. He really would have to schedule a date with one of his young ladies before he left with Illya, if only to keep himself grounded.  

 

“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble attracting Burnside’s attention.” Napoleon conceded. “Just dress up a bit and get rid of the glasses.”

 

Illya rolled his eyes. “Of course Napoleon, whatever you say. You’re such a fine judge of men.”

 

Napoleon reached for his wallet and drew out a familiar object. “We may as well use this again.”  He gave the St Christopher medal to Illya.

 

“You won’t mind monitoring me again?” Illya asked not meeting his eyes. “It must have been unpleasant for you last time.” Since the Affair they had not spoken about this aspect of the assignment. Now Illya’s words made Napoleon wonder how his friend had felt about his eavesdropping. Did Illya really think he had found it an unpleasant duty?

 

“Not exactly unpleasant.” Napoleon said truthfully. “More uncomfortable than anything. I didn’t want to … intrude on your…privacy.” _I didn’t want to hear you come, _was what he was really thinking but Napoleon was not going to voice that thought.  “But it’s a useful safeguard if anything unexpected should happen. I’ll be just a stones throw away.” 

 

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind. I did feel … safer…knowing you were listening.” Illya still wasn’t looking at him and Napoleon wondered what it cost his friend to admit to that feeling.

 

“All you have to do is call Illya. I’ll come running.”

 

 

 

 

 

Part 4.

 

They arrived in Seattle on Thursday but made no move to meet the local UNCLE agent in person. If Burnside was wise to UNCLE’s interest then they needed to maintain their cover.  For all they knew, Burnside might have their man watched.

 

They checked into an ordinary motel in the less fashionable part of town where no one questioned them. Napoleon had discarded his suit in favour of something more casual wanting to blend in with his surroundings and Illya looked young and unkempt in a tee shirt, jeans and leather jacket.

 

Around lunch time they wandered down town to Burnside’s bar which went by the rather strange name of The Ball and Chain.

 

“Looks like a normal bar, nothing like that last place.” Napoleon observed from their car across the road.

 

“Looks can be deceiving.” Illya replied. “Let’s go in and find out.”

 

They wandered in and strolled up to the bar. Napoleon looked around warily.  The place wasn’t full but the customers looked…normal. Napoleon relaxed. At least there were women in here, seated with men, chatting at tables, drinking. The few men who were seated together looked to be workers on their lunch break. Nothing out of the ordinary.

 

Illya was chatting to the barman, ordering them beer, saying something about being on a road trip to Canada and just arriving in town. Napoleon finished his surveillance and turned his attention back to Illya as the barman brought their beers.

 

“You should come back tonight.” The barman was saying, leaning in a little too close for Napoleon’s comfort. He tensed, ready for trouble. The man could be a Thrush agent.

 

“Oh?” said Illya apparently not worried at all. He leaned towards the barman, fluttered his eyelashes a few times and asked, “What’s so good about the nights here?”

 

The barman grinned, winked and whispered. “I think you and your friend would fit right in. Good atmosphere here at night. Friendly.”  The barman turned to Napoleon, looked him up and down and winked again.

 

Napoleon felt the blood rush to his face and resisted the urge to knock the man out. He reached for his beer, sloshing it on the counter and took a huge mouthful.

 

“We’ll we make sure we come back,” Illya smiled, before turning to Napoleon and placing a hand on his forearm stroked it up and down. “Won’t we?” 

 

Napoleon rallied himself. This was just another undercover assignment, nothing more. “Uh yeah, how could we say no to an offer like that,” he leaned closer to Illya, dropped his voice and breathed “Sweetheart.”

 

Illya grinned, the barman grinned and Napoleon grinned. Dear God they must look like idiots, he thought to himself. He swilled down more beer.  The barman moved away to serve another couple and Napoleon glared at Illya.

 

“Things are not always what they seem, Napoleon. You just have to know the right cues.”

 

“Obviously you have picked them up from somewhere!” Napoleon remembered what Illya had said during the previous affair. “Although I do recall you mentioned that you didn’t know our customs here.”

 

“I’ve been doing some research.” 

 

Napoleon’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve been doing what!” He looked around suddenly realising his voice was raised. Heads had turned, the barman stared.

 

“Not here Napoleon,” Illya grabbed his arm.

 

“Why, worried he’ll think we’re having a lover’s tiff?”

 

“Good thinking Napoleon! That will work in my favour. Come on, finish your beer and let’s go. Try to look angry.”

 

Napoleon didn’t have to try. He was angry although he couldn’t really say why.  Illya’s statement had unsettled him. I’m worried, that’s all, Napoleon told himself.  If Illya was out prowling around homosexual hangouts, anything could happen to him. Napoleon loosened his grip on the steering wheel, telling himself not to jump to conclusions and to wait for Illya’s explanation.

 

They drove in silence back to the motel.

 

“So would you like to tell me what you meant by doing some research?” Napoleon asked once the door was locked.

 

Illya sat down on one of the two beds, swung his feet up and leaned back against the pillow. Napoleon sat on the other.

 

“After the Variation on a Theme Affair I thought it prudent to find out more about the customs in this country. Did you know there is a whole string of underground bars that cater to homosexuals throughout New York?”

 

“No I didn’t!” Napoleon snapped. “And I can only think of one reason why YOU would want to know.” He shook his head. “You said yourself it was dangerous. Illya, you’re leaving yourself open to blackmail and worse if you seek out those sorts of liaisons with men.”

 

“Napoleon I didn’t go there for my own pleasure. I knew it was only a matter of time before Mr Waverly had me perform a similar service for UNCLE again and I wanted to be prepared. I needed to find out your customs if I was to stand any chance of blending in.”

 

“But you said you didn’t want to work in the field.”

 

“I don’t,” Illya retorted. “But do you really think Waverly would let that worry him?  Look how he manipulated us last time.” 

 

Napoleon was surprised. Not that Waverly had used them; he’d realised he was a pawn from the beginning, but Illya had never spoken of his own suspicions and Napoleon had not brought it up.  He’d been ashamed of how Waverly had used Illya and was worried that his new found friend would be suspicious of all Americans if he understood what had truly happened. It was better for him to think his involvement had been on his own terms, as a favour to Napoleon, rather than the result of a carefully orchestrated setup.

 

Illya was still speaking. “Once I proved my worth to Waverly he wasn’t going to let me go easily. I’m useful to him.”

 

Something in Illya’s voice sent shivers up Napoleon’s spine.

 

“He blackmailed you?”

 

“I wouldn’t use quite that term, but he did, shall we say, manipulate the situation once again.”

 

“How?”

 

Illya looked away, eyes down.  “He is aware of our…friendship, you see. He said that it would be very unfortunate for you if anyone were to think it was more than that.”

 

“But it’s not.” Napoleon protested.

 

Illya turned back, eyes sad. “I know that Napoleon,” he said softly, “and so does Waverly but that didn’t stop the threat. Mud sticks and Waverly had a handful of it just waiting to throw if I didn’t agree to lend him my particular skills from time to time. He need only to leak the details of the Variation on a Theme Affair and both our reputations would be tarnished. Mine because of what I did, and yours, well, I’m sorry to say it would be guilt by association.”

 

“That old bastard.”

 

“You don’t get to his position by being a gentleman, Napoleon. He’s been in this game a very long time.”

 

“He used me too Illya, manipulated our friendship to make me agree to working with a partner when required. That’s why you were alone on this. He knew I’d jump in and then he had me at gunpoint.”

 

“I’m sorry I have caused these problems for you Napoleon. It might be easier if we saw less of each other after this.”

 

“Nonsense, I won’t let the old goat have the satisfaction,” Napoleon spat. “Besides, we’ve still got that double date to arrange.” 

 

Illya rolled his eyes.

 

“So, was all of this research purely theoretical?” Napoleon asked, not sure how far he wanted to pry. He was curious, but another part of him didn’t want to know if Illya had been seeing other men. Seeing and …what?  Napoleon’s imagination exploded and he had to look away.

 

“I am not sure what you mean by ‘theoretical’, Napoleon. I visited some places, watched, listened, drank and talked to men there. It’s the only way to get reliable information.”

 

“Anything more?”

 

Illya closed his eyes and smiled. “What’s that saying you have Napoleon? _A Gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell_?”

 

Napoleon’s stomach flipped.  Illya opened one blue eye and burst out laughing.

 

“You should see your face Napoleon.”

 

 

 

Part 5

 

Illya headed back to The Ball and Chain later that night, alone. Napoleon followed in the car, cigarette case receiver tuned in, listening to Illya’s breathing. “Wish me luck, Napoleon,” was the final whispered message before Illya entered the bar. By the sounds coming over the receiver the place was full now. Napoleon turned the volume down slightly.

 

“Where’s your friend?” Napoleon recognised the voice of the barman from earlier. “Beer again?”

 

“My friend is back at the hotel. We had a fight. And yes, beer please.”

 

“Hmmph, jealous type is he?”

 

“Yes….although we’re not exclusive. He just likes to think he owns me.”

 

Napoleon decided it was time to light a cigarette.

 

“I know the type. I’m Dave, by the way.”

 

“Simon.”  Illya’s cover name. “Thanks.”

 

“Don’t go anywhere Simon, I’ll be back soon. Work calls.”

 

If Burnside didn’t show Illya would be certain of at least one conquest for the evening, Napoleon thought cattily.

 

 Silence and the sound of Illya swallowing. Napoleon ashed his cigarette in the tray. 

 

“He’s here,” Illya’s soft whisper into his beer glass was distorted.  More silence, stretching out, filled by the background hum of voices. Napoleon began to wonder how long this would take. He lit another cigarette, wishing he was in there too. For safety’s sake, he added mentally.

 

“Someone I want you to meet,” Dave the barman again. “Friend of mine. His name’s Sebastian. I think you’ll have a lot in common. This is Simon.”

 

“It’s a pleasure Simon. New in town?”  Sebastian Burnside at last. Contact made.

 

“Just passing through, travelling up to Canada.”

 

Napoleon settled back as Illya gave their cover story.  If Burnside was going to make his move he had to think tonight was his only chance.

 

“We were planning on heading off tomorrow, but ah…well my friend and I had a bit of a disagreement. So I’m here and he is back sulking at the motel”

 

More idle chit chat. Burnside was no master of conversation although he did buy Illya a couple of drinks including a fancy cocktail that he had Dave make. He seemed to know the barman well and Napoleon wondered if this was how he arranged his liaisons. Did Dave scout for him?  He liked to show off too, boast about what he did and what he owned and throw his money around. At his age it was probably the only way he could attract younger men.

 

It took over an hour for Burnside to finally make his move. They’d been drinking steadily and Illya was being to sound a little drunk. Napoleon hoped he was acting.

 

“Listen Simon, why not come back to my place for a while. Make that friend of yours really jealous and have yourself a bit of fun at the same time. My driver is outside, he can drop you home again afterwards.”

 

“You have a driver?” Illya sounded suitably impressed. “Yes, and a car to go with him, don’t I Dave?”

 

  

  1. “Sure do Sebastian.” Dave the barman was back again.   There was a pause and Dave’s voice became much louder. “You could do worse than Sebastian, the guys loaded!”  He’d leaned closer to Illya, must be right in his ear. 
  



 

“Really?” Illya sounded awed. Napoleon laughed. He could imagine the blue eyes wide, lashes fluttering giving the appearance of absolute innocence.  

 

“He’ll give you a good time,” Dave purred.

 

Napoleon wondered where Sebastian was while all this was taking place and soon saw him appear at the door of the bar. He waved to his driver who must have been parked down the road.  A big black car slowly made it ways up the street. Napoleon turned the key in the ignition and waited.

 

Back inside, Dave was talking to Illya. “How about a kiss before you go? Sebastian won’t mind. He likes to share.”  Some wet sloppy noises, breathlessness and panting.

 

“What’s all this, Simon? Couldn’t wait for me?” Burnside was back.

 

“Uh, no it wasn’t like that…” Illya was slurring his words.

 

Dave laughed. “Just warming him up Sebastian, hope you don’t mind.”

 

Another laugh; Burnside’s. “It’s all right Simon, you both made a nice picture. I like to watch sometimes. Come on. My car is outside.”

 

An alarm sounded in Napoleon’s head. You didn’t survive long in his field without a keenly developed sixth sense and something about this whole situation felt wrong.

 

“Is your place far?” Illya’s again, voice still a little uneven.  Napoleon hoped it was an act. He watched and waited for the two men to immerge from the bar, trying to assess Illya’s true state. He was walking on his own at least but Burnside had one arm firmly around the Russian.

 

“I live out of town, about twenty minutes. It’s quiet and I value my privacy.”

 

The car ride through miles of pine forest quickly turned into a back seat necking session. The beauty of having a driver, Napoleon concluded was you didn’t have to keep your hands on the wheel and from the constant rustle of clothing, Burnside must have his hands all over Illya.

 

Napoleon wished Illya could give him a sign that everything was all right, but the only vocal sounds Napoleon could hear were the, mmms and ahhhs, gasps and sighs that Illya was making.

 

Under normal situations Napoleon would use such sounds to gauge his date’s pleasure and respond accordingly. But this was far from normal, at least to Napoleon.  He wished he had a way of telling if Illya was all right, that things were still going to plan. They should have thought of this before; set up a series of code words or even sounds that could keep Napoleon informed. He’d make sure something was in place if they ever had to do this again. If Illya had to do this again, Napoleon amended. He had the easy part. Illya was the one in danger of being ravished in the back seat.

 

“Let me suck you off,” Burnside asked. Napoleon nearly missed the curve and had to fight to correct his car as it threatened to skid. Hell, couldn’t Burnside wait until he got home?  Illya apparently had the same thought.

 

“Don’t you want to wait until we get to you place? We could do each other then?”  At least Illya’s voice sounded clearer than it had. Maybe it had all been an act before.

 

“At my age I’m only good for one climax a night. You’ll be up again by the time we get home”

 

“But …what about your driver?”

 

“He’s watching the road. Come one, I really want to taste you. I’m good at it.”

 

“Well, all right.” Illya agreed but with underlying reluctance in his voice.  

 

Napoleon suppressed a groan.  How was he supposed to listen to this and drive at the same time?  Oral sex was every man’s fantasy, but few women could be convinced to try it. At least that was Napoleon’s experience and he liked to think that his experience was considerable

 

On the other hand men such as Burnside obviously considered it par for the course.

As he listened to the sultry sounds that Illya was making, Napoleon realised there was a whole lot more to homosexual sex than he had imagined. And he was imagining plenty now. By the sounds that Illya was making he was enjoying this.  Women could fake orgasms, but not men.  And Illya didn’t sound like he was faking anything. This was different to when he had been with Monroe. Perhaps Illya liked oral sex? Stupid question, Napoleon told himself, of course he did even if it was in the line of duty.  What man wouldn’t? All he had to do was close his eyes and think of …what?  Someone. Someone else. A man perhaps or a woman he had known once? Known and liked?

 

Hell, Napoleon concluded, feeling his own passion catch fire, even he could even do this part if it ever came to that, just close his eyes and let some man blow him all in the service of UNCLE.

 

Illya groaned, and Napoleon felt it reverberate deep in his groin. I should stop the car, Napoleon decided, before Illya…but it was too late, Illya came with a muffled cry and Napoleon fought for his own control, over the car and over himself, fighting to keep the car on the road while trying not to imagine what Illya looked like in the throes of passion, face flushed and sweating, eyes screwed shut, lashes plastered to his…

 

“Shit,” Napoleon wound down the window and let the breeze cool his fevered imagination. This was getting out of hand.  It’s just a reaction, he told himself. Just a physical reaction, nothing strange about it at all.  But thinking didn’t get rid of his erection.

 

Burnside’s voice came over the radio receiver again. “Good?”

 

“Very,” Illya gasped, breath still coming hard.

 

“Told you so.  Just wait until we get home. I’ve got even more to show you.”

 

Napoleon wondered how he’d make it through the night.

 

 

Part 6

 

Burnside’s driver pulled into a gated estate and Napoleon parked outside in the darkness. He hoped the house wasn’t too far from the road as Illya’s mike only had a range of about half a mile. The area was heavily wooded and Napoleon wondered if that would interfere with reception.  He didn’t have long to worry.

 

“You have a lovely home.” Illya was still out of breath and his words unsteady.

 

“Why thank you. Let me get you another drink. Excuse me for a moment.”

 

Silence. Napoleon waited.

 

“I’m terribly sorry about this,” Burnside returning. “It seems some business associates arrived while I was out.  I’m going to be tied up for a while. Have your drink and then I might have to get Carter drive you back to town if I haven’t finished. I really am sorry.”

 

“I understand, these things happen. Could I use your bathroom please?”

 

“Of course.  Down the hallway, past the master bedroom,” smug voice, “It’s the one with the four poster bed. Bathroom is next door on your right.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I’ll be back before you go. Make yourself comfortable and finish your drink.”

 

This was almost too easy. Napoleon waited, the uneasy feeling still creeping through his veins.

 

“This may turn out easier than we anticipated,” Illya whispered under his breath, the sound revibrating slightly through Napoleon’s receiver. 

“I’ve put two in the living room and was able to plant one in the bedroom on the way past.  I’m just doing the bathroom now. Burnsides got visitors so it looks like we might get an early night.” A sigh. “I am feeling a little tired and not just from his performance in the car.”

 

Even over the mike, Napoleon could detect a hint of embarrassment.

 

“I think Burnside tried to spike my drink earlier, some cocktail thing. I didn’t finish it but I don’t think he noticed.”  There was still that slight slur to Illya voice, but he sounded in control. 

 

_Be careful Illya_, Napoleon wanted to say. _You’re not out of it yet._

 

Muffled voices grew louder over the receiver. Burnside and his friends.  Illya was returning to the living room.

 

“Ah there you are, Simon. Let me introduce you to some people.”

 

“I should really go so you can take care of your guests.” Illya said quickly.

 

“No need to rush, finish your drink first. I’ll have my driver drop you back into town.”

 

“Thank you.” followed by the sound of Illya drinking and Burnside talking.

 

Napoleon sat back in his seat and waited.  He was not disappointed at the thought of the Affair ending so quickly.  He wasn’t looking forward to listening to Illya have sex again. His earlier reaction troubled him and even now that strange excitement still simmered in his blood.  Perhaps he and Illya could have a few drinks together back at the hotel since it was still early.  Maybe they could talk about whatever this was that Napoleon was feeling. Maybe they could… 

 

“Ohhh…what’s happening?... What have…you…done.” Illya’s voice, panicked and slurred. A thud.

 

“Nothing to worry about love.  Just a little something to put you in the mood. I was hoping you’d help me entertain my friends.”  Laughter; course and harsh.

 

Napoleon bolted upright. Illya was in trouble.

 

“You…drugged….” The words were badly slurred. Illya’s breathing became harsh and laboured over the radio. “No….”  Muffled sounds. “Stretch him out there, over the arm of the sofa.”

 

“He’s a pretty one, where did you find him?”

 

“New in town.  Dave gave me a call; said he was just what we were looking for.  Man’s got good taste.”

 

“God, Sebastian, how much did you give him? He’s out cold.”

 

“The first drink didn’t seem to effect him so I doubled the dose. Don’t worry. He’s still good for what we want him for.” Ribald laughter. “I’ll have Carter dump him somewhere when we have finished with him.”

 

As Burnside and his cronies set about their business Napoleon tried to remain calm and assess the situation.  Illya was in there, defenceless and vulnerable and there was nothing he could do. If he was to attempt any sort of rescue the Affair would be compromised. To go in, gun blazing would only alert Burnside to the fact Illya was with UNCLE. They would suspect a set up and probably do a sweep for bugs. Illya’s work would be for nothing.  All Napoleon could do was sit and wait for them to finish and follow the driver to see where he left Illya. There was nothing in Burnside’s file to suggest that he harmed his conquests in any way, but then again, perhaps the men had not come forward to report something of this nature.

 

Napoleon felt sick. He pulled out his communicator cigarette case. “Open Channel D.”

 

“What can I do for you Napoleon,” purred the female voice on the other end.  Napoleon ignored the noises coming over the received and tried to think clearly.  “Betty, I need a medical team put on stand by, Mr Kuryakin is in trouble. Let Mr Waverly know if he’s still at HQ.”

 

“Understood Napoleon.”  The line went dead and Napoleon stared up into the darkness. “Please dear God keep him safe,” he whispered under his breath.  It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do; to sit there and wait while he listened to the sounds of rutting coming over Illya’s mike.  There was no sound from Illya himself now which was a worry in itself. What had Burnside given him and how dangerous was it?  _At least he doesn’t know what’s happening to him. By the time he wakes up I’ll have him safe and sound and everything will be all right_. It was hollow comfort but all that Napoleon had to cling to.

 

His communicator beeped. “Solo here.”

 

“Mr Solo, I understand Mr Kuryakin is in some difficulty. Did he complete the mission?”

 

Napoleon bit back a curse. “Yes sir, he planted the bugs. He was just about to leave when Burnside spiked his drink. He’s in there, unconscious, with Burnside and some other men and they are…” Napoleon couldn’t finish the sentence.

 

Waverly jumped in.  “You are not to attempt a rescue Mr Solo. That’s an order. What is your situation?”

 

“I know that sir,” Napoleon’s voice was low and deadly. “I am still in the car. They plan to dump him somewhere when they have…finished with him. I just wanted to put Medical on alert. He’s been drugged and may be suffering other injuries.”

 

“Understood Mr Solo. Do not take him to a local medical facility. We don’t want awkward questions. I’ll have a team sent in. Keep me posted. Waverly out.” Napoleon slammed the cigarette case shut.





 

 

The receiver was still playing out Burnside's idea of male bonding, the voices cheering each other on as one man after another took his pleasure.  Napoleon leaned out the window, his stomach threatening rebellion. He'd seen worse of course, in Korea and on assignments, but this was different. This was Illya, his friend and...partner. Yes, despite Napoleon's usual reticence, he had come to think of Illya in those terms. he liked working with the quiet Russian and hoped to do so again in the future. But now he wondered if Illya would ever want to venture into the field again. One thing at a time, Napoleon told himself. Rescue first.




 

They would deal with the fallout later.

 

Part 7

 

It seemed like an eternity before Burnside and his friends had finished toying with their helpless plaything. Napoleon reversed his car into the bushes when he heard Burnside order his driver to take Illya back to town. He switched off his headlights and waited in the darkness for the car to pass. He couldn’t risk being seen, but had to keep the car in sight. Although he could just make out Illya’s breathing he couldn’t track his movements. If he lost them in the darkness he would have no idea where they driver might chose to dump an unconscious man.  He followed, headlights dimmed as they headed back through the pines.

 

Illya was still silent, his low, slow breathing the only sound evident in the quiet car.  Still unconscious Napoleon surmised by the shallow breathing that seemed to get slower by the minute. What had they given him? Was the does high enough to be dangerous?

 

Napoleon slammed on his breaks as the car in front slowed suddenly and swerved. A door swung open and something was thrown out.  With a screech of tires the car did a u-turn and headed straight for Napoleon, fishtailing as it righted itself. Napoleon swung to the side, almost losing control in the gravel. The road cut away, down a deep embankment.  Sliding to a stop, Napoleon checked the rear view mirror but the other car had disappeared into the darkness. He wasted no time climbing out, torch in hand and began searching the road side.

 

“Illya,” he called, trying to find the spot where he had seen his friend thrown out. The smell of burnt tyres and rubber left on the road showed him where to start looking. He scrambled down the embankment, sliding on the soft dirt. “Illya,” he called again. “Where are you?” His torch flashed back and forth, a thin beam piercing the darkness amongst the tree.  A faint moan sounded over the communicator that he had tucked in his shirt pocket. He listened, trying to pinpoint it in the surrounding area.

 

Where is he, Napoleon asked, eyes to the heavens in an age old entreaty. Please let me find him.  The full moon chose that just that moment to break through the clouds and light up the night. Napoleon heard again a faint moan, in stereo this time, from his pocket, but also over to his left. He followed a beam of moonlight that cut between the trees and saw a glint of golden hair lying at the bottom of the embankment a few yards away.

 

“Illya,” he called again, as he hurried over, heart in mouth, wondering what he would find. The fall from the moving car alone would have done damage and Napoleon didn’t want to think about what else might have happened. He flicked his torch over the crumpled figure. Illya flinched away from the light. “It’s all right, it’s just me. You’re safe now.” Napoleon knelt down, hands reaching out to check for injuries. Illya moaned again and tried to move away. “It’s me Illya,” Napoleon tried again. He rolled his friend onto his back. Dazed eyes looked up at him, pupils wide and dark.

 

“Drugged, Napoleon” Illya slurred.

 

“Yes, I know. Let me check you for injuries. They threw you out of a car. You may have broken something.” Illya lay still, allowing the examination and Napoleon used his torch to look for visible signs of injury. The side of Illya’s face was grazed and bleeding, probably the result of the fall. His clothes were in disarray, his jeans still undone. Carefully Napoleon felt along Illya’s arms and legs, looking for breaks.  He ran his hands through his hair, feeling for cuts and bumps. A sharp gasp of pain told its own story and Napoleons fingers came away from his temple wet and bloody.

 

“Illya, you have a head wound and you may have a concussion. It’s important that you stay awake.”

 

The dazed blue eyes just stared at him.  “I’m going to take you up to the car and then back to the hotel. Waverly’s sending in a medical team. You’re going to be all right.”

 

“Yes Napoleon,” was the slurred reply.

 

Hoisting Illya into a fireman’s carry, Napoleon struggled back up to the road side. He deposited Illya in the car and checked in with HQ again. Waverly came on himself and questioned Napoleon. “Are Mr Kuryakin’s injuries life threatening, Mr Solo?”

 

“I don’t think so. Nothing appears to be broken but he has a cut to his forehead and may have a concussion. I don’t know about…the rest of it. And whatever drug they gave him is still having an effect too, he’s very dazed.”

 

“A medical team should be there by morning, Mr Solo. Sit tight until then.”

 

“Morning? Can’t they get here any sooner?”

 

 “Your’s is not the only Affair taking place tonight Mr Solo.  There are more serious matters afoot. You have training in advanced first aid so use it. Waverly out.”

 

 

Part 8

 

Napoleon cursed and started the car. Illya slumped in the seat beside him.

 

“I need you to stay awake, Illya. Talk to me. Do you remember what happened?”

 

“Not much. The bar…something in my drink. Mission - failed?”

 

“You planted the bugs, Illya. Do you remember telling me that when you were in the bathroom?”

 

“No, can’t remember.”

 

“Waverly’s sending a medical team but they won’t be here until morning. If you think you need treatment now, I will take you to the hospital.” Damn Waverly’s directions.  Napoleon was not going to sit by if Illya needed help.

 

“No, I’m all right.” Illya looked at Napoleon and tried to focus. His face was bloodied and bruised from the fall, but Napoleon could still detect the swollen lips and razor burn around his mouth.  His clothes were in a state too, stained, dishevelled and torn. He was sitting huddled in the seat, uncomfortable, hurting.

 

“Illya, Burnside he…you’ve been…”

 

“I know Napoleon, I know what he did to me.” There was tired resignation in Illya’s voice.

 

“Not he – they. He had some friends there. I don’t know how many. Are you …hurt badly?”

 

“I’m fine, just feel sick.” Illya closed his eyes.

 

The concussion or perhaps the drug would be responsible for that. Napoleon was still worried.

 

“But Illya…they…”

 

“Not now Napoleon. Just drive to the motel.”  The sharp voice left no room for argument, but at least it showed a glimmer of the old Illya. If he can get angry with me then he’s not as dazed as he was, Napoleon surmised.  

 

When Napoleon finally pulled the car into the motel no one was around to ask awkward questions as he helped Illya out.  Shaking off Napoleon’s arm, Illya struggled to stand on his own.

 

“I’m fine,” he said swaying and promptly vomited on the ground. Things became worse after that.

 

Napoleon helped Illya into the bathroom and positioned him in front of the toilet bowl.  He found a towel and wet it, before placing it on the back of his friend’s neck. When he tried to examine the head wound, Illya shook him off.

 

“Drug, not concussion. Had concussion before…this is different.”

 

Napoleon considered the facts. If this was the fault of the drug Illya had been given then it was working its own way out of his system.  He still felt helpless, unable to do anything except watch as his friend heaved his heart out in the toilet bowl.

 

When the vomiting finally stopped half an hour later, Illya lay down on the bathroom tiles, exhausted.

 

“Napoleon, can you bring me some clean clothes please? I want to take a shower.” His voice was less slurred now and although his face was deathly pale, his eyes were no longer dazed.

 

“Do you think that’s wise?” Napoleon asked gently. “You can hardly stand.”

 

“I’m fine. I want to take a shower. And bring the first aid kit too.”

 

Stubborn Russian, Napoleon thought but did as he was told and returned with Illya’s pyjamas.  Illya had crawled to the bath tub and was using it to pull himself up to his feet.

 

“At least let me help you.” Napoleon couldn’t understand why Illya was being so stubborn. “You’ll need help putting a dressing on that split on your head.”

 

“You can do it after I have showered. Now go outside…please.”

 

“I will but only if I can leave the door opened. That way I can hear you when you fall flat on your face.”

 

“All right Napoleon.”

 

Napoleon left the bathroom and sat down on his bed.  He pulled his gun from his holster and held it in his hand taking comfort in the solid feel of the metal. He wanted to shoot something. Shoot someone…shoot Sebastian Burnside, all of his friends and Dave the barman. Line them up and shoot them one by one. How many other young men had fallen victim to Burnsides games? Had the Innocent that UNCLE sent in really sold them out or had Burnside simply disposed of him and spread the story of his flight to LA? Napoleon vowed he would find the answers.

 

The shower turned off and Napoleon waited, listening to the little everyday sounds that Illya made as he dried and dressed and brushed his teeth.  How could he be so calm?

 

“My head’s cleared a bit,” Illya said as he immerged from the bathroom. “I’m starting to remember more. I think that drink Burnside gave me at his home was spiked too. I don’t remember anything after that until you found me.”

 

“He tried again when the first one didn’t work.” Napoleon replied putting his gun back in its holster when he noticed Illya staring at it. “He made it stronger too. It knocked you out pretty quickly.”

 

Illya gestured at Napoleon’s gun. “Are you expecting trouble Napoleon?” Illya looked down at his striped pyjamas.  “Maybe I should get dressed.”

 

“No, I was just…never mind.” He looked at Illya who was still standing in the middle of the room. “Get into bed and get some rest, the medical team won’t be here to until morning. Waverly said something about another Affair on tonight. My guess is it didn’t go well.”

 

Illya pulled back the covers and carefully slid into bed. He was moving stiffly, clearly hurt but reluctant to admit it. “Yes, there was something else. Six of us were working on explosive devices for them for about two weeks. I was pulled off when Waverly assigned me this Affair. Whatever it was, it was big. I heard Jack Pallister was heading it up.

 

Napoleon switched out the light and lay down, still dressed, his gun resting beside his hand. “Whatever it was we will no doubt hear about it tomorrow. Wake me if you need anything”

 

“I’m fine Napoleon.” Illya’s voice drifted through the darkness.

 

 

Part 9

 

“Mr Solo? Are you waiting for Mr Kuryakin?” Napoleon woke, disorientated and for a moment thought he was still in the Seattle motel room. But that was twenty four hours ago.

 

A medical team had come for Illya at first light and Napoleon had not seen or spoken to his friend since then. He had travelled back to New York separately and spent the rest of the day writing up his report in longhand as he sat in the waiting room outside the Medical Section. He hadn’t seen Waverly but the word going around was that the other affair that night, the Glow Worm Affair, had ended in disaster with two agents dead and another four seriously injured including the CEA Jack Pallister.  He had finally drifted off to sleep in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs only to be awoken some time later by a white coated doctor.

 

Napoleon shook himself awake and straightened his jacket. “Yes, I’m Solo, can you tell me how Mr Kuryakin is?”  Napoleon wasn’t expecting anything but a standard answer from the doctor. The medical staff were under strict orders of confidentiality and could only release private information to Mr Waverly and the CEA Jack Pallister.  Napoleon was therefore surprised when the Doctor began talking.

 

“He’s fine Mr Solo, we’re just discharging him now. Most of the drug had passed through his system by the time he came in. He has a very mild concussion, nothing serious at all. No internal damage so he didn’t require any surgery, just some minor tearing that needed a few stitches. He can be back into it by Monday.”

 

Napoleon blinked for a moment, wondering if he had heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

 

“Back into the field. I’m certifying your partner fit for field work again next week. I presume you’ll both be wanted to help clean up the mess after the Glow Worm Affair disaster yesterday?”

 

It took Napoleon a moment to follow what the doctor was saying. He thinks Illya’s my working partner; that is why he is so forthcoming. And it was true; they were partners now.

 

“Yes, thank you doctor. It’s been a rough night…and day….”  Napoleon realised he had lost all track of time. He looked at his watch and realised it was nearly 7.00pm

 

“Mr Kuryakin’s just getting dressed. He’s in room four. Will you see that he gets home?”

 

“Yes, of course Doctor.”  Napoleon tapped softly on the door and went in.

 

“Oh Napoleon, it’s you.” Illya looked surprised. “I didn’t know you were here. I thought you’d gone home.” He finished buttoning his shirt and sat down carefully on the bed. The bruising on the side of his face had darkened and there was a small dressing on is temple. The dark shadows under his eyes stood out in his pale face.

 

“I didn’t go home, I was waiting to see if you were all right. The doctor just found me and filled me in.”  Napoleon hovered by the bed, not quite knowing what to do or say.

 

With a wince, Illya bent down to put on his shoes.  “I told him to let you know how I was. I thought you might ring and I know they don’t give out much information. I didn’t want you to worry. ” Illya paused and looked at him, assessing. “You look dreadful. Have you been here the whole time?”

 

“Yes, I was worried about you. You were raped Illya.” There, he’d said it. He’d put a name to the ugliness that had been replaying itself in his head all day. Now it lay on the floor between them. With a shake of his head Illya swept it back out of sight.

 

“There was no need to worry, Napoleon. Burnside didn’t hurt me. I don’t even remember it, I was unconscious.  That helped, in more ways than one.  My body didn’t fight it. And I was better prepared this time too.”

 

“Better prepared? What do you mean?”  This wasn’t something Illya had done in the motel beforehand. Whatever preparations he’d made had been done in the bathroom, twenty minutes before they left. Napoleon hadn’t even been asked to leave the room this time.  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

 

“Oh Napoleon,” Illya sighed and shook his head. “For someone who claims to be a man of the world you really are naive at times. I’m saying that I have been with other men.  You asked me if my research was all theoretical? Well it wasn’t.  I had to do it if my cover story of being a practicing homosexual is to be believed.  Any man I am with would be able to tell if I had been living like a monk. Monroe knew straight away, we were just lucky that I was able to fit it into my cover.  Burnside would have been suspicious.   He thought you were my lover. How would I explain that?”

 

“I don’t know…” Napoleon stuttered. He didn’t know where to look. 

 

“Napoleon, it meant nothing to me. It was….like practice shooting on the target range, nothing more. Something you have to do to keep your score up.”

 

Napoleon knew there was a joke to be made there, but he couldn’t find it and he didn’t feel like laughing.  He wondered if Illya was telling him this now in order to distract Napoleon from what had happened with Burnside.

 

“Illya, how can you sit there and act as if nothing has happened?”  He ran one hand through his hair. “I had to listen while those men abused you and there was nothing I could do.”

 

“Napoleon, listen to me.” Illya stood up, wincing again and crossed the small space between them. “I know this is hard for you, but do you remember what I told you in the lab that day?  I said you mustn’t let it touch you; that you have to distance yourself from what is happening.  Well that is what I have done and that is what you must do too.” Illya’s blue eyes looked brittle in his pale face. “If you want to be my partner on these affairs then I have to know you won’t let this effect you. I can’t afford to be worrying about what you might do if things go badly. If this is a problem for you then we won’t be able to work together again.”  He reached out and gently touched the sleeve of Napoleon’s jacket.  “You’ll compromise yourself, Napoleon. Waverly will smell blood and strike. What do you think he’ll make of it all?” 

 

They stood, face to face, looking into each others eyes, a myriad of things unsaid passing between them. 

 

“Yes, I understand Illya. You can trust me to keep my head.”

 

Illya smiled softly “I trust you always Napoleon.”

 

Once again the quiet Russian had surprised Napoleon with his depth of feeling.  Of all things, trust must be the hardest for Illya to give, and yet here he stood, declaring that trust even after Napoleon had failed to rescue him. He didn’t know what to say. He settled for the obvious.

 

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

 

 “I can take the bus Napoleon.” Illya declared, stubborn to the end. He bent to pick up his bag moving stiffly and Napoleon recalled what the doctor had said about stitches.  Napoleon grabbed the bag first.

 

“Don’t be stubborn! Come on.”  He ushered Illya out the door and towards the exit. The corridors were empty this time of night, with only a skeleton staff working until morning.  They kept pace with each other, shoulder to shoulder and Napoleon felt a slight easing in his heart. They’d made it through yet again. They’d survived and their friendship was the stronger because of it. And whilst he might not always understand Illya, he respected him.

 

 A sudden thought crossed Napoleon mind.  “Uh, Illya, at those bars, did you meet anyone nice?” he asked. “Anyone… special?”

 

“Oh Napoleon, you’re incorrigible. Is that all you think about?” Illya rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t looking to meet anyone nice.”

 

“Well that’s good,” Napoleon replied with a grin. “Because it means you’ll still be interested in that double date!”

 

 

The End

 

September 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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